The Mossberg Armory
by mrstserc
Summary: Dean and Sam lead The Armory, a special ops military unit, as together they go through the trials to close the Gates of Hell. This is a S8 fic and continuation of Dean Mossberg, US Army. Expect spoilers if you have not seen season 8. Rated T for language. I own no rights to Supernatural and make no money on it.
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Reader, This story is a continuation of Dean Mossberg, US Army, and – if you want to know how the guys ended up in a government contract - it should be read first. The short fic was actually a continuation of a one-shot I did, and readers requested more. So I wrote a short story, but readers wanted more, so I tried to end it, but readers asked for more, even responding to other stories I wrote with requests for more Mossberg. It has actually made me extremely anxious about even trying this, like panic level almost. So please be kind if this isn't how you thought the story would go. Also, I messed with the Season 8 timeline a little. Respectfully, Teresa_

_P.S. Legalities – still have no ownership and make no money from Supernatural._

_**. . . . . . .**_

Seven months after Guantanamo - July 2013

Helicopters are marginally better than airplanes, but flying freaks out Captain Dean Mossberg to the amusement of the rest of the unit. But in a way, it's good that he's sitting there hunched over, red faced, making himself breathe slowly to prevent a full-blown panic attack.

The captain is just a little too good at this stuff otherwise…too good at finding things, and hunting things, and killing things. Too relaxed afterwards. Accepts this crazy shit that springs from nightmares a little too willingly. Yeah, if they didn't see him fighting so hard to overcome his fear of flying, they might think he isn't completely human – like his buddy and occasional teammate Castiel Winchester isn't.

Yeah, they don't talk about that either.

Their unit, nicknamed the Mossberg Armory or just The Armory for short, has its requisite numbers and letter designations. Somehow it manages to be a federal black ops joint military rapid-response law enforcement team under the Department of Homeland Security out of Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska.

The Armory's commanded by Colonel John Smith with his Executive Officer Joe Wesson – but it's the captain they take their nickname from. The Armory's members are active military recruited from all four branches, and there's a civilian research component.

Every single one of the members, military and civilian, has committed to becoming someone new and to keeping everything they do secret. They don't talk about their missions except to each other. No one would believe them anyway. The captain's brother snorted once and said of course a team named after his brother would never want to talk about things.

The entire team of twenty, counting the civilians, admin staff, helicopter crew, medic, and the away team, never mentions how the type of missions they undertake makes this team unique. They also don't talk about the members who died already over the six months they've been together. Instead they follow their boss's lead and give them a special fiery funeral before seeing who can be last man standing when they set out to get drunk.

It's usually Dean; Captain Mossberg can really put away the booze. Still shoots straight when he ought to be blind drunk.

But chasing down werewolves, rooting out witches and people possessed by a Mayan god, banishing a malevolent Civil War ghost, and beheading a nest of pirate vampires does make this group one of a kind. Hell, they even fought Nazi-necromancers and rescued a guy and his Golem. Their experiences help bring them closer together as a team and as people.

Now though, The Armory is going after a Hellhound because their prophet – a civilian kid named Kevin Glock – told the boss's big brother, head researcher Sam Mossberg, that the Demon tablet contains information about closing the gates of hell forever.

Captain Mossberg and his brother taught a class about demons and how to trap them and kill them, with enough detail to ensure the team knows what they're facing. They seemed sad when they talked about how back in the day, they would try exorcism when they could. They tried to save the lives of the meat suits, but that it rarely worked because demons were vindictive and vicious. Purposely ruined the bodies they possessed. Made a point of how vicious Hellhounds are too.

"Sir, you seem like you have personal knowledge," Staff Sergeant Mike Remington tries to wheedle information, but a shutter falls over the captain's face, hiding any glimpse of his thoughts. His brother, a big, fit guy for an egghead, starts to clench and unclench his fists. No one pushed.

So while it's kind of hard to accept that Hell's minions are here on earth, they believe. The Mossbergs have earned their loyalty, and they trust their captain with their lives. They know he's got their backs – and they have his too. That prophet kid had taught them how to turn eyeglasses into Hell vision goggles too, and everyone on the team is as prepared as a person could be when faced with the impossible.

The captain doesn't seem much like the big hero who will throw himself in front of a threat for any of them right now, though, hunched into himself looking like a scared kid, dark gray fatigues tucked into black boots and head hidden in his arms. Sam sits next to him and reaches over to buckle his brother in. "You want some headphones? I've put Metallica on the MP3 player for you." He shouts through the helicopter's comm system as the rotor blades fill the air with noise, even with stealth technology.

"Go away, Sammy. I don't even want you with us; it's too dangerous. Plus, what if we crash? Who's gonna run things then?" All this comes as a muffled whine from where Dean's already assumed the crash position as the Blackhawk lifts on its way to Idaho where Sam's research says a Hellhound has come to collect its bounty at the Cassity Farms. Once a hound is killed and the blood spread over the person undertaking the trial, there's an incantation that must be read aloud. Sam already told Dean all this.

Snorting, Sam places his big hand on the back of his brother's neck, kneading to relieve some of the tension and reinforce the idea that he is there for him. While Sam still feels the need to make it up to Dean for not looking for him when he went to Purgatory and rejecting him when he came back, their relationship has gotten much better. Not perfect though. Sam and Dean have recently had words about Dean befriending a vampire, but the fight was about more than the fact that Dean gave Benny a pass. It was about Sam's stubborn brother being a closed-mouth jerk, at least according to the taller brother.

Once upon a time the tiff might have resulted in them going separate ways for a time - their government contract prevents that now. Well, the contract plus the fact that last time Sam let Dean storm off, his brother joined the Army which triggered all of this. Better to stay close and keep an eye on him. Besides which, Sam doesn't want his brother to face a Hellhound without him. Doesn't plan on letting Dean do it at all, truth be told, but Dean's not the only brother who can hold his thoughts close to his chest.

Sam's still more than a little bit proud that their new identities make him the older brother, and he takes it seriously. He had a great example that he intends to surpass. The two brothers wrangled over the switch, but Sam insists it is right when all the Hell time gets added in. Sam figures he is actually older now, knows he acts it, and with Dean being a big baby afraid of flying, Sam turns on the fraternal concern for real. Yeah, even Sam appreciates the glimpses that prove Dean is still human.

"C'mon, Dean. It'll be over soon." He tries cajoling him. His brother raises his middle finger in response.

"Your guys are seeing you act like this. That can't be good for morale." Sam switches to shaming Dean, but one look around at the huge grins from the men - Remington, Ethan Colt, Steve Kimber, Shane Savage, and Mark Marlin proves he's wrong. Sam glowers at them. They grin even harder.

Even the helicopter pilot Susan Weatherby, crew chief Kat Springfield, and medic Ernesto Jimenez are smiling. This isn't their first flight with Dean, and they know he'll come up fighting at the end. "Don't baby him," Sam admonishes them, earning more grins and a peek at bright green eyes as Dean looks up to see that he's become the center of attention.

The sway of the helicopter as it turns soon has Dean's face turning green and moaning before he hides his head again. "Tell me again why we couldn't drive there."

"It's a thousand miles, Captain." The pilot says over the comm. "That makes for a long drive but about a less than five hour flight. Might as well get some use out of the bird that makes us rapid response."

"It's not natural." Dean groans, as the group peals with laughter and shouts of "It's super natural." Even Sam is laughing now, and Dean glares at him. "I hope it's a clown farm." Dean mutters.

"Yeah, lot of that clown farming going around." Sam snarks back, glad for even a ridiculous argument if it'll help keep Dean's mind off flying.

Having an officially sanctioned government unit to handle cases changed how the brothers did things. They no longer have to be sneaky, except for avoiding the news media. Additionally, the PATRIOT Act gives them the right to conduct warrantless searches, issue gag orders, or indefinitely detain suspects because Congress has declared – in a secret Bill - that attacks from heaven or hell qualify as terrorism. Considering how much damage was done in the war between Lucifer's forces and Michael's before the Apocalypse was averted, it makes sense.

Too much happened that couldn't stay hidden or be completely swept under the rug. Whole towns had been lost to the Horsemen, Famine, Pestilence, and War. Lucifer had leveled much of Detroit. Death had nearly annihilated Chicago before Dean talked him into stopping. Then there was Castiel's stint as God Part Two, and Dick Roman's rise as the head Leviathan – making sure the sheeple stayed fat and unaware.

The government scrambled at first, trying to find sane explanations for the chaos. But even when things calmed down again, when the people went back to worrying about more mundane things, government agencies put out feelers into a world of what they now knew existed. They infiltrated a strange community called "Hunters," and they heard the name Winchester whispered in fear, loathing, and awe.

Two guys who kept saving the world, or endangering it, or both. Died countless times – even government records proved that. Were resurrected by God, maybe? Or Lucifer himself? Maybe they're not even human any more.

Government agents dug deep, met with members of law enforcement agencies who had been in contact with the brothers, even found a few first-hand accounts that in the past they would have filed under the loose talk of nut jobs. Real loonies when you consider Martin is actually locked up in a psych ward. Then Dean Winchester walked right into their hands via an Army recruiting station in Big Springs, Texas, claiming his last name was Mossberg. The rest is history, especially the part about a short stint at Guantanamo Bay convincing the brothers to work for the government.

John Smith, posing as a Chief Warrant Officer at the time, had made first contact with the brothers. Whether it was reward or punishment, the man became the commander of this special group. But the Mossbergs are its heart. Their expertise fuels the training and helps keep people alive. Their dedication to each other serves as the example of self-sacrifice, and tales of their childhood have filtered through the rank and file, making any full-grown man or woman ashamed to let fear rule them.

The civilian hacker in the research unit, Charlie Beretta, may have bookmarked an old set of books by some guy named Carver Edlund for them all to read, too. She's almost like a sister to the Mossbergs, but she isn't near as secretive. Since they read the stories, all of them have gone out and gotten a tattoo like the brothers have.

But they don't talk about that either. The helicopter's flight ought to be weighed down by secrets, but it isn't. Instead the pure fondness they group has, the sense of family these brothers create around them, and the bubble of fun they have when seeing the boss's weak spot speed them along.

This group might be facing Hellhounds tonight, but today they are locked and loaded. The Mossberg Armory has a job to do, and they are going to save the world whether the world wants to be saved or not.


	2. Chapter One Codename: Fido

**Chapter 1 Mission codename: Fido**

The Bureau of Land Management helipad where The Armory's helicopter settles is in the central part of the state on the Northwest side of the small town. The BLM has two SVU's ready for the team, and the station manager has a stunned expression on his face. This is more excitement than this small place has ever seen, but he's holding official papers and a legal gag order. It never happened.

Dean shakes off his previous phobia about flying and slips behind the wheel of one of the black vehicles with a hip-check to Staff Sergeant Marlin, who grumbles about the boss taking his job but gets in the back. Sam climbs in the front passenger seat, and Sergeant First Class Mike Remington gets in behind him. The other four guys get into the other vehicle, three more teammates and Jimenez, the medic. The helicopter crew begins checking over the Blackhawk and gets ready for the refueling process.

"I miss my baby," Dean grumbles as he pulls out. The two cars are still in radio contact, so they all hear as Dean and Sam start reviewing the strategy as they roll up to park back from the gates of "Cassity Farms." The brothers are going to approach the house while the rest of the team spreads out and surrounds the property, keeping their captain and his brother under surveillance until needed.

"Okay guys, remember Hellhounds aren't normally visible and usually only heard by the person whose ass they're after. Keep checking on each other, and make sure you're wearing your holy fire birth control specs." Dean strips off his uniform jacket and pulls on a flannel shirt and leather jacket over his black t-shirt, untucking the gray cargo pants from his boots. Sam is already dressed in jeans, so he does not need to change.

"If you see it, let us know, so I can spike Fido and get these trials started." Dean says as he puts Ruby's demon killing knife in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. As the brothers pull away, the gates automatically open, and the SVU moves slowly up between neat wooden fences toward a rambling stone ranch style house.

The guys park next to a tractor with a body on a mechanic's dolly working under it and quickly meet the property manager, a mid-twenties Hispanic woman in jeans and work boots. "You guys here about the job?" Ellie Garcia asks.

"How'd you guess?" Dean asks, throwing her a flirtatious grin. Sam shakes his head at his brother's predictability wondering if Dean will bat his eyelashes soon. Even though they can use the full weight of the government, the unit prefers to keep civilians in the dark, so the role-playing skills the brothers perfected in their hunting days come in handy.

Ellie seems less than impressed, although her eyes wander over Dean and Sam appreciating their lean muscles. "You two don't look like farm hands, and you look better kept than most drifters." Her suspicious eyes are drawn from them though as a chunky guy in his mid-thirties walks up, introducing himself as Carl Granville and wondering who the brothers are.

Sam steps forward to shake his hand. "Hey, I'm Sam. This is my little brother Dean." Dean narrows his eyes at Sam's back, but Sam ignores his grunt of displeasure. "So, you're not a Cassity?"

Carl laughs and explains his wife Alice is the Cassity. "I'm her trophy husband," he jokes rubbing his round belly. "You should hire these guys, El. They seem like good folks and strong workers."

Ellie shrugs and says she'll give them a try, still looking like she thinks they're hiding something, even though Dean is wearing his best innocent expression. His smile fades when she walks off after showing them the horse barn and giving them their first task, mucking the manure from the stables.

"Crappy job." Dean grumbles as he rakes out the horse shit. He knows the rest of the team is probably laughing. They'll use this to make a point, again, that maybe their captain should try leading from the rear occasionally. But Dean prefers to be in the thick of things, especially when they are still trying to find out what's going on.

"Dean, we still need to talk about what we're going to do here." Sam has stripped off his jacket and is working on the other side of the horse stables. "I think your plan is reckless. I want us both to live through killing this thing and closing Hell's gate. How about you?"

Dean pauses a moment, leaning on his shovel. "WE are not killing it, Sam, I am. I'm the one who got us into this, and I plan to see it through. You know we've faced shit like this before - because this God's trials crap, we've been down roads like this before with Azazel, the Apocalypse, and Dick-fucking-Roman. We both know where this ends - one of us will end up dead, or worse." It says something about their lives that they both know there's worse ways to end up than dead.

"So, what - you just up and decided it's gonna be you?" Sam demands, pulling himself to his full height and moving into Dean's personal space to tower over his brother. "Didn't we just go through that with you getting blown to Purgatory? Huh? What makes you think it's your turn again? Or that being the guy left behind is easier? You should know better than that."

Dean doesn't give an inch, and refuses to remember how hard that year was after Sam jumped in the pit. He doesn't back off.

"Look, Sam. You're always saying I don't talk about my feelings. Here they are. I'm a grunt, Sam. I'm going to end up dying with a gun in my hand someday. You're not. You're smarter than me. You've always been the brains. The unit needs you and your expertise to keep going, and I need you to be safe and healthy. That's all I've ever really needed." He shuffles in place and ducks his head before looking back up into his brother's hazel eyes.

"You've been doing great, Sam. You and Charlie and Kevin got your research thing going. We have a place – a real house – on the Air Base. You've got a chance to live pretty normal, maybe get married and have fat babies. I want that for you, Man. I want to be able to make up for dragging you back into this after you got out."

Sam searches his brother's face for sarcasm, but all he sees is love and sincerity. What he doesn't see is any indication of how hard it would be to do what Dean is asking. His brother still has a problem with recognizing his own worth and importance in Sam's life. That makes Sam even more sure that he's let Dean down because he hasn't made Dean feel needed.

"Dean, when have either one of us ever been safe? And I don't know why you always think you're expendable or dumb. You're not. You're the glue that held our family together, and now you're what holds this unit together. And you're smart – practically a genius when it comes to lore. And now, you're making it a new family, Dean. And that, well, that's something I couldn't do it without you."

Dean shakes his head in disbelief and Sam huffs in frustration. "Don't take my word for it, Jerk. Ask them." Sam's voice starts to raise, but then the brothers hear Ellie's voice talking to another woman, and with grunts of frustration turn back to their work.

. . . . . . .

Carl Granville is torn apart by a Hellhound that night while having dinner with his wife on the back patio. Dean's ready to call it a bust and have them find another possible demon deal coming due, but Sam stops him. "It doesn't make sense for it to be Carl, Dean. That doesn't explain them striking oil where geologically there shouldn't be any. Let's hold off. I think some other member of the family made a deal." Sam points out that they've seen that before. Demons like to work several deals in the same area whenever they can.

That makes Dean decide to take off the kid gloves. He calls the unit in and has them prepare the house against Hellhound attack. The Armory spreads goofer dust and salt over the doorways and windows. And then they wait for the rest of the family to arrive. They are the kind of family that takes the fun out of dysfunctional. Noah Cassity, the dad, is 71, short with a pudgy middle, balding, and a billionaire. He had recently married to his fifth wife. She's a twenty-year-old model.

Noah has his two younger daughters with him. The middle one, Cindy, is sickly thin, with hair dyed so often it resembled straw. She once had a tiny bit of success in the music industry, so she tries to stay frozen as though time isn't passing. Margot, the youngest, ran away to Paris years ago. She looks tired and mousey. Together they look startled as an obviously military unit has occupied the farm.

"'Kay, listen up," Dean says after getting the family settled into the living room. He's standing by the fireplace with Sam standing just behind him, arms crossed and looking imposing. "I need to know which of you whored your soul out to a demon to get something you wanted ten years ago."

Ellie has been walking around filling glasses for the family, but Sam sees her back stiffen. "Ellie?"

The young woman turns toward the brothers. "I didn't know." Ellie's gasping and her expression is terrified. "I just wanted my Mom to get better."

Sam turns to her with a puzzled frown. "Then it can't just be you. Someone sold their soul for riches."

"Ha!" Noah smirks. "Cindy here probably sold her soul for her music career. God knows she can't sing. Ha! Should of made a better bargain."

"What are you talking about old man? If anyone here is guilty – and these guys aren't just insane – then it's got to be you. Why else would your underwear model marry a shriveled up old wreck like you?" Cindy finishes off her drink with a flourish.

Sam listens carefully to the bickering, and then he notices Margot isn't saying anything. She's sitting there with her hand over her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut. Ellie has collapsed next to her. Sam waves his hand to get Dean's attention, and then he gestures to the two women.

"Damn." Dean runs his hand over the back of his neck. "Both of you?" When he gets little nods in return, he shakes his head. "Must have been one convincing sonofabitch."

"Who is that?" Noah demands.

Sam steps in. "We need you to tell us. Ten years ago, what stranger did you make a deal with ladies? What was his name?"

Ellie and Margot look at each other. "What was his name again?" Ellie asks the youngest Cassity. "Crow?…Cow? …Crowley?"

. . . . . . .

That night Dean tries to leave Sam in the house with two of the men to protect the family, but Sam refuses. Muttering about stubborn-ass civilians and wearing the demon vision glasses, Dean prowls around the perimeter with Sam as his shadow, checking in with the other four men who have all been armed with ancient demon-killing Kurdish knives like the one the Winchesters got from Ruby. That was one really nice thing about being government sponsored – a decent budget for weapons.

As the approach the barn, the brothers hear the Hellhound growling and snarling. They can see what it looks like through the glasses. "So you must be Crowley's bitch." Dean snarks. "Fugly. Hey, Sam, I guess pets really do look like their owners." He turns his head to see if he made Sam smile when the Hellhound attacks Dean, clawing his left side.

Sam jumps in to help Dean as the animal slams into his brother. Dean is thrown into the wall opening the wound in his side further. "Shit." He mutters, laying down and reaching his other arm out to retrieve his knife. The Hellhound stomps towards Dean, paw prints showing in the dust. Suddenly Sam fires, and the Hellhound whines in pain, but keeps coming.

"Not again, you bitch." Sam growls as he rushes to Dean's side. "I'm not watching you kill my brother again."

The Hellhound charges and both brothers sink their knives into it. Its black blood bathes them as it howls with its final breath and collapses on top of Sam and Dean. "Ewww, get it off me." Dean is grunting, pushing from underneath, but he doesn't have any leverage. Sam stumbles to his feet and reaches his arm down to help his brother as other members from the Armory rush into the barn.

Gunnery Sergeant Ethan Colt patches up his captain's side. "Looks pretty bad. Might need a hospital," the Marine says as he smoothes the last piece of tape over the bandage that covers Dean's side. "And god only knows how getting that thing's blood on your open wound is going to affect healing."

"Nah, we cleaned it with holy water, and as for this…I've had worse." Dean brushes away help, although he's wincing in pain pulling a clean t-shirt someone handed him over his head. "It's just a scratch." He continues in a fake British accent. Colt looks to Sam in hopes the older brother can talk sense into the captain.

"He's had worse, and you aren't funny." Sam is standing with his arms folded, glaring at his brother. He turns to the other members of the unit. "Ummm, thanks, but you can go now. I need to talk to your captain." That's become code for the brothers are going to yell at each other, so the rest of them leave them alone.

"I'm not letting you do the spell, Dean." Sam has his jaw clenched so hard it's a wonder he manged to get the words out.

"Well, I'm not letting you do it alone either." And Dean tilts his head so his set face is glaring back at Sam. "Only way we're going to do this is together."

"We don't know if it'll work on two." Sam stammers.

Dean opens the piece of paper where the spell is written. He raises an eyebrow and smirks at his brother. "C'mon, Sammy. We do it together. What's the worse that could happen?" Then before Sam finishes drawing in breath to respond, Dean continues. "If it doesn't work, we find another Hellhound and try again."

Sam holds one side of the paper and Dean the other as the brother's chant. "Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr." The air splits with a thunderous noise, and the brothers fall to their knees grabbing their arms where fiery red lines trace their veins, but they have their answer. The spell did something to them both. They'll go through the trials together.


	3. Legacies Part 1

Chapter two: Legacies part 1

"Cas, if you're listening. I need to talk to you about Dean."

Sam's walking slowly down the street between the parade ground on Offutt Air Force Base and the red brick duplexes of General's Row where the brothers, Charlie, and Kevin live in what used to be VIP temporary housing. The four bedroom house doubles as research headquarters, and sometimes Sam needs to get out.

His lanky frame makes quick work of moving away from the building as he bows his head. "Dean…he's not healing right after the Hellhound, Cas. I don't know, Man. I don't know if it's because of the trial – I'm feeling pretty wiped out too – or if it's because all that Hellhound's blood got into his wound." He kicks a rock, watching it skitter away. "And you know him. Jerk tried to hide it. Went on a ghost mission and collapsed. You there, Cas? 'Cause I'm really worried."

"I'm here, Sam." The gravelly voice announces him as the trench-coated angel begins walking next to the taller brother. Castiel has his hands thrust into the pockets of his trench coat, and he is holding himself stiffly. "What do you need me to do?"

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, or as he's known in the Mossberg Armory, Special Attaché Cas Winchester, has a complete and correct identity with all pertinent papers and a position when he wants it. It was part of the deal Sam negotiated with the Attorney General. And Cas tried to stay around at first, but he has clashed with Colonel Smith and Major Wesson several times. Dean was concerned, too, that his bosses were wondering too much about what makes an angel tick.

Castiel had another reason, too, for avoiding the Winchester brothers since his return from Purgatory, but he hasn't shared that with them. Blue eyes sweep over Sam, peering into his soul, and Cas purses his lips and furrows his brow. "I cannot fix the damage in you from the trial, Sam. It is a legacy of undertaking the trials and can only be overcome by completing them. If this is what is wrong with Dean, than I will not be able to help."

Sam says he understands, but that he asked Cas to come for Dean, not him. "Cas, Dean's side, where the Hellhound mauled him? It's not closing right. He's been hiding it…" Cas gives him a doubtful look. "Yeah, well, we have separate rooms now. It's not as easy to check on him. And he pulled rank on the medic. We didn't know it was still bad before the Armory went after a vengeful spirit recently." Sam kicks another rock. He didn't go on that mission. "Dean got tossed hard, and he didn't get back up."

"He hasn't asked for me?" Cas questions, and Sam wonders whether the angel knows how plaintive he sounds.

"No. You know Dean. He says he's fine. No need to bother you."

Agreeing that Dean must want to be helped first, the two decide to join forces to overcome Dean's stubbornness and turn toward the house where Dean is because he refused to go to the hospital. Colonel Smith follows them upstairs and into Dean's bedroom. When they reach it, Dean's sleeping under a sheet. Charlie is sitting next to the bed reading to him, and Kevin is curled up in a window seat staring out.

They all gather around the bed to look at him. Dean's skin is waxy and pale from blood loss, not a major bleed, just a steady trickle for a week. The medic, Jimenez, a Navy Corpsman, adjusts an IV transfusion bag as Sam and Cas enter. "How's he doing?" Sam stage-whispers.

"I really want him in the hospital," Jimenez worries. "I think we may need to do some kind of skin graft to keep this closed. I mean, it's been stitched, bandaged with pressure dressings, and now we're using a negative pressure wound vac. I've use holy water to clean it every day, and it still won't heal." He huffs out a complaint. "May have helped if he hadn't tried to hide it for a week."

"Let me look." Cas moves forward as Jimenez shrugs, none of the enlisted team is sure what to make of this sometime member of their team. Rumor says he's an angel. Jimenez folds the sheet back, and removes the wound vac and bandages. Dean's abdomen over his rib cage has four large claw marks from the Hellhound. They are still seeping blood.

Dean's eyes flutter open and he startles. "Fuck!" He tries to jerk upright, but groans and lowers himself back gingerly. His eyes sweep around taking in all six people around the bed. "Okay. This is definitely the creepiest." Then he smirks. "It looks like one of the scenes from a movie where the king is dying."

"Not funny, Dean." Sam huffs.

Cas frowns down at Dean. "You are not a king, Dean, but if you do not heal soon, your heart will give out from blood loss and you will die."

"So, you gonna fix me, Cas?" Dean asks, his eyes moving to his friend. "Is that the only reason you came back? Heaven not finished with me yet?" Even though he tries, Dean cannot quite take the sting out of his words, and the emotional pain Dean feels whenever he thinks he has been abandoned flashes across his face. Charlie and Sam wince at how raw his words are, knowing this is part of Dean he usually keeps hidden.

Cas moves closer and places a hand on Dean's forehead and another carefully over the wound, in a stilted voice he says, "You are still needed." His blue gaze does not leave Dean's pain-filled green eyes until Cas closes his, showing that the healing is taking actual effort. He gasps as the wound closes, and his hands fall back to his sides.

"I've done what I could." Cas reaches out, and then drops his hand again. He looks apologetic. Cas looks like he's keeping a secret too, and that worries Dean. "You will have to take time to recuperate more. Even then you will not be fully healed while the trials are ongoing." He pauses. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I still cannot stay with you."

Smith's look is calculating while Jimenez is stunned. The Corpsman moves practically barging closer. "It's really healed. I just…What is…Who are you?" He angles to look toward the dark-haired man in the trench coat, but Cas has turned away.

"So now you're doing better, Captain Mossberg, can I ask what the Hell you thought you were doing hiding an injury?" Colonel Smith demands. Jimenez, Charlie, and Kevin exchange startled looks and start edging toward the door. They have heard plenty of clashes between Dean and Smith, and they don't want to be caught in the crossfire. "We don't send our people back out until they're healed."

Sam smirks at his brother. "Dean's used to ignoring his injuries. Used to calling the shots too."

"Et tu, Brutus?" Dean mutters at his brother.

But Sam's smile leaves his face when Smith turns to him. "And how, and when, did you contact the angel? Without clearing it with me?"

Sam stammers something about coincidence, but it's such an obvious lie that he shuts up, face turning red as both his brother and the colonel look at him with their eyebrows raised.

Dean breaks the stalemate. "I'm fine now. So what's the big deal?" That gets him glared at by everyone in the room.

"Dean, you are not fine." The angel shifts closer and captures the hunter's eyes. "You are better than you were, but between that injury and the effects of the trial, you almost died. Even now, these will leave you with a legacy of exhaustion, fever, and pain. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Cas. I've got another shitty legacy to deal with, along with every other thing. Well, whatever." Dean's voice is edging into anger. "Maybe you could all get out of my room before you get to know me too much better. I need to get dressed, and I don't seem to have anything on under this sheet." Dean shuffles himself to the edge of the bed, struggling with the sheet to stay modestly covered.

"Not so fast." Smith snaps, and Dean stops. "Mossberg, you and your brother are both on limited duty right now. As a matter of fact, I'm putting you both on leave for a week. You've got vacation time coming to you. Use it. You need to get out of here, go do something not-work related. Recuperate."

"A vacation?" Sam's face splits into an actual smile. "An actual, honest-to-god vacation, like the Grand Canyon or Disneyland?" Forgetting he's supposed to be the older brother, Sam turns to his brother, puppy dog eyes full force. "Can we?"

"I'm not flying anywhere." Dean warns him. "But, hey, we could jump in Baby, drive down to Lawrence and take in a Jayhawks game. They're home this weekend coming up." He can see Sam's getting ready to argue. "We could stay in a nice hotel? With wifi and an indoor heated pool?"

"You're on!" Sam looks years younger as he smiles. "Probably best if we don't go too far while you're still recuperating anyway." He turns to Charlie and Kevin. "You two want to come along?"

Kevin and Charlie exchange guilty looks. "We already made plans," the young prophet stammers out. "I, uh, we, uh, didn't think you'd be interested."

"Interested in what?" A puzzled Dean asks.

"We're LARPing this weekend." Charlie sees that Dean doesn't undertand. "Live action role play. We dress up and act out a scenario with a group of people." He still looks puzzled. "I'm the queen." She adds.

Dean's quirks his eyebrow at her. "Okay, your highness. Well, you have fun with that. Sam and I are heading to Kansas."


	4. Legacies Part 2

Sam had wanted to stay in a fancy hotel, but he settled on the Holiday Inn a few blocks from Kansas University. It is attached to a convention center and is pretty upscale, compared to what they used to stay in. It is also modern enough to offer wifi throughout, and it has an indoor pool and hot tub. Dean made a face at the bland interior, soft yellow striped wallpaper, flower prints on the walls, and bland tan and beige couch and carpet. After years of eccentric décor it was pretty boring. Out of habit, they'd booked one room with double beds.

While making sure Sam knows he thinks the place is a bit pretentious, Dean can't hide how much he appreciates how clean everything is, and how nice the mattress and bedding is. He surprises Sam by bringing out swim trunks for them both, and then he insists his brother go soak in the hot tub with him.

"C'mon, Dude. We're on vacation." Dean wheedles, and Sam gives in.

"I could get used to this," Dean sighs contentedly as he stretches his aching muscles and leans against a jet in the hot tub. Whether or not he realizes it, Dean stretching and moaning attracts a crowd. Plenty of women, and men, wander over to join them in the hot tub, which is set in an atrium near the pool. Sam laughs to himself when half an hour later Dean complains about how crowded it has become and climbs out to pull on a shirt and his sneakers before heading back up to the room to get ready to go out to the game.

The brothers sleep in the morning after. Then they take their time getting around. That is until there's a flash of light and a man falls into their room through the closet door. The man immediately starts making demands. "Which one of you is John Winchester? Please, time is of the essence! Which of you is John Winchester?" The dark haired man who looks about thirty asks.

Dean had been tying on his boots. He and Sam were planning to go to a diner for a late breakfast. Sam, who was ready first and messing on his laptop while Dean got dressed, answers. "Neither of us."

The man looks between the two, completely dismayed. "No, that's not…That's impossible. That's absolutely... What did I do wrong?"

"Who the hell are you, mister? And what the fuck were you doing in our closet?" Dean pushes the slightly smaller man against the wall and holds him there with his forearm to the guy's neck. He might be moving more slowly than usual with his injuries, and caught without a weapon, but he's still got enough energy and strength to surprise whoever this is.

"Wait. Wait!" The man pulls at Dean's arm. "I'm thinking. Please. I can assure you there's no need for violence. One of you must know John Winchester."

Sam stands up and moves to stand at his brother's back, folding his arms across his chest and towering. "I'll tell you what – when one of us falls out of your closet, then you can ask the questions. How 'bout you just tell us the truth instead of thinking up some convenient lie."

Henry holds his hands up surrendering. "My apologies. Now, is it absolutely essential, sir, that you keep your hands on me?" He asks Dean, who glares before stepping away, letting Sam take lead while Dean finds his .45 caliber handgun.

The guy tries to leave, but Sam grabs his arm and walks him over to the table. The slim young man looks at the newspaper Sam has laid out there. He snatches it up and brings it closer. "2013? Huh. Guess the Mayans were wrong." He sputters as Deans throws water on him.

"Holy water?" The man mutters. "They can't be completely unconnected."

"Connected to what?" Dean demands. "And you can start telling us everything we want to know before I beat it out of you."

"This may be beyond your understanding, my alpha-male-monkey friend. And violence will not help you comprehend it any easier." The man says in a snooty voice. Sam just shakes his head, but Dean growls.

"Well, let me tell you what I do understand with my tiny little monkey brain! Some asshole popped out of my closet, into my hotel room, asking about my dad. So, tell me, why am I not getting violent, again?"

The man pales as he stares at Dean. "John Winchester is your father?" He tries to stand, but sways like he's going to pass out.

Sam catches him. "Are you okay?"

The dark-haired man breaks away and grabs the trashcan, vomiting into it. He then wipes his mouth with a clean white handkerchief and accepts a glass of water from Sam. "If it brought me to you, blood to blood, that can only mean…" He straightens up, still holding the handkerchief to his mouth. "John must be dead. But, he's only. He wouldn't be old. I, umm, I was time traveling. I'm from 1958."

"Seriously, Dude? Time-travelling through motel-room closets? Looking for my dad who was only a little kid in 1958. You better have some kind of good story to go with that." Dean's face is furrowed with concentration. "Sam, I really frikking hate time travel."

"I'm John Winchester's father. I'm Henry Winchester."

Dean sits down on the bed heavily, looking stunned. Sam throws a worried look at his brother. Dean's been pale, still recovering from the aftermath of the Hellhound, but he was just starting to look a little healthier. Right now he looks chalky. Sam wonders if Dean is going to throw up, too.

Sam asks the man for identification and the guy hands over his wallet. "Driver's license says he's Henry Winchester from Normal, Illinois, Dean. Dude, this is our grandfather." Henry's eyes widen as he realizes Sam has included himself in that.

"Brother? So, you're both John's sons?" Henry asks, stunned. "Well, that explains why the spell…but no, that's not what's important. I've just met my grandsons, haven't I? That's more, umm, so hello." He holds his hand out and Sam reaches to shake it. "Hello, Sam. I am pleased to meet you, regardless of the circumstances."

Sam smiles sadly at the man, his grandfather. "Hello, Henry. So, well, this is my brother, Dean." Sam looks to see if Dean is going to come shake hands, but Dean is still sitting on the bed, green eyes as bright and angry as a trapped feral cat in his too pale face. "Dean?"

"Sammy, I don't get why you're being all chummy. This guy ran out on dad when he was just a little kid, He broke his heart." Dean can see his words hit like fists.

"I would never…" Then Henry gasps and stammers. "If that's so, then I, I must not make it back from this. He grew up thinking I just left him? That I abandoned him?" His hazel eyes fill with tears, but don't overflow. He clears his throat. "Were you close to him? Would you…will you tell me about him? How did he…" He stops. "First, though, we need to get out of here. A demon will be trying to follow me. Ababadon, a knight of hell."

. . . . . . .

Six hours of driving later, with Sam turned to converse with Henry in the back seat of the Impala the whole way, Dean has heard Henry's side of the story.

Henry spoke of the Men of Letters, and how he should have been there to induct John into the organization that their family had always belonged to. Henry also asked about John, and Sam had pulled out John Winchester's hunting journal for him to read, despite Dean giving him a nasty look.

"I never would have thought my little boy and his sons would grow up to be hunters." Henry mutters, shaking his head. "I can see from this what a fine mind he had. He should have been taught out ways."

Dean snorts. "Well, he had to learn things a different way, a harder way. He had to survive a lonely childhood and a stinking war. Then he got married and had kids, only to have his wife killed in front of him by a demon. Had to raise his sons hunters so they could learn to protect themselves. That man, your son, got a bum rap every turn. But you know what? He kept going. He kept trying, until a demon…" Dean has to stop to clear his throat. His final words are choked out. "In the end, he did a lot more good than he did bad."

Henry looks devastated. "I wish I could have been there for him. I planned to be. And when we get to the chapter house, I'll be able to find out why no one took my son under their wing once I disappeared."

"That was your responsibility." Dean spits out. "Your responsibility to look out for your family, not for some glorified book club!"

Henry starts to get mad too. "I was a legacy. I had no choice."

Sam jumps in as a peacemaker again, wondering if that's going to be part of his role now as the official older brother. "Dean, cut him a break, Dude. He just found out. It's been years since dad died to us - it was this morning to him."

"It was a risk I had to take. You have no idea how much it hurts, especially after reading John's journal. Can you possibly understand how a father might have to make a choice like that? How he might feel? I just lost my son." Henry chokes back tears and falls silent.

Sam reaches over to pat Henry on the shoulder. Dean glares at his brother. "That sympathy? That's really rich coming from you, Sam. Like you ever cut dad a break." He turns back toward the road. "I understand that this is not your idea of a happy ending, Henry, okay, and that – that you're disappointed in how your family ended up as mouth-breathing hunters. But you know what? We stopped the Apocalypse. And I'm done talking about this."

Dean's face is set in an angry scowl as he gives his entire attention to the road. Henry stares at him for a moment before he turns to Sam. "Was he very close to him?"

Waiting a moment to see if Dean would react, and seeing that his brother was determined to ignore them, Sam sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, Dean and my dad were. Dad and I used to fight, but not them. Not really."

Finally, Dean pulls up next to a building in Normal, Illinois. The place has a big sign – Astro Comics. "No." Henry gasps. "This can't be right."

Dean glares, and Sam jumps in quickly. "It's the address you gave us." Henry gets out of the Impala, and the boys follow. The Man of Letters traces the Aquarian Star symbol that is etched into the door frame. "I don't understand. What could have happened?"

"Let's get settled in a hotel, and then we'll do some research, and find out, okay?" Sam is gentle as he leads Henry back to the car. "We need to get something to eat, and Dean needs to rest. He's still recuperating from an injury."

Dean huffs. "You're taking this big brother thing a bit too seriously, Sammy."

"Yeah, well, someone has to take your health seriously." Sam retorts. "Give me the keys. You looked wiped out."

Sam gets them checked into a suite, and tells Dean to get some rest until he gets back with food. Dean shrugs and throws himself across the bed with a groan. Henry sits at the table leafing through John's journal. When Sam gets back, Dean is asleep, snoring lightly.

"Let's let him sleep a little more," Sam says. "Maybe you could tell me more about this Men of Letters group, and we can figure out how to trace them." As he's talking, Sam is setting up his laptop – which Henry is amazed at. "I still don't understand why Dean and I have never heard of them."

"Well, it's because you're hunters." Henry's eyebrows raise as though that answer should be self-explanatory.

"What do you have against hunters?" Dean asks without even fully opening his eyes. He doesn't sound angry anymore, just tired and kind of hollow.

Without stopping to think, Henry retorts, "Aside from the unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-and-don't-bother-to-ask-questions-late r part, not much, really."

This time it's Sam who sounds annoyed. "You know what? We're also John's children."

"You're more than that, actually. My father and his father and grandfather before him were Men of Letters, as John and you two should have been. We're preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that which man does not understand. We share our findings with a few trusted hunters – the very elite. They do the rest." Henry has calmed down by the end of his rant, and he sits thinking. "Abaddon." Henry says suddenly. "She must have done something." He reaches into his pocket and pulled out a carved wooden box. It has the Aquarian Star on it too. "For this."

"Okay, so, what's that?" Sam asks, glad that they are actually talking without argument now. What he's not ready for is Henry to shrug and shake his head. This grandfather looks like a lost little boy for a moment. It reminds Sam that this man in front of them is actually younger than them, and right now it really shows.

Henry bites his bottom lip, looking scared and worried. "I wish I knew. Abaddon attacked us the night of my final initiation. All secrets were to be revealed then, so I really do not know. But they can't all be gone. There must be an elder out there somewhere who can help us figure out how to stop Abaddon, and what to do with the box."

Sam locks his fingers together and stretches his hands, making popping sounds. Then he wiggles his fingers before moving them to the keyboard. "Give me some names."

. . . . . . .

The names Henry gives Sam are tracked to various obituaries and news stories, and the three men learn that that the official story is that they all dies in a fire the night of Henry's initiation. Further tracking finds the cemetery where they are buried, and Henry notices a name in the burial rolls, Albert Magnus.

The Man of Letters explains how that is a cover name, and if someone by that name was buried, the grave must hold a clue. They head to the cemetery to exhume the body which is buried in a grave marked by the Aquarian Star. Sam and Dean dig up the grave, even though Sam wanted to do it himself. Inside they find a body with dog tags on identifying it as a World War II veteran named Captain Thomas J. Carey III.

"So, what, maybe one of your guys survives the attack and hides out with this guy's identity?" Sam asks, trying his theory out loud. Henry agrees that the idea is possible.

Back at the hotel, Dean sits at the computer and checks. "Hey, uh, according to county records, Thomas Carey III lives in Lebanon, Kansas, and is a very happy 127-year-old. I say we get some shut-eye, head over first thing in the morning. It's like eight hours away."

Sam agrees, but he's been thinking. "Tell us what you know about this demon, Abbadon. What do you mean by saying she's a knight of hell?"

"Knights of Hell are hand-picked by Lucifer himself. They are of the first-fallen, first-born demons. Legend has it that Archangels had killed all of them, which, as we have witnessed, is not the case." Henry sounds exhausted. "They are practically indestructible, immune even from Kurdish demon knives. Exorcisms won't destroy them. There's supposed to be a gun made by Samuel Colt that will kill just about anything evil, but Lucifer and his Knights are supposedly able to overcome it as well."

"Great. Just what we need, another super demon. So, how do we kill her?" Dean asks. "Or at least slow her down?"

"Well, I don't know if we can." Henry speaks slowly, as though he still thinks Dean isn't very smart. "We are talking about a creature almost as powerful as Lucifer himself."

Dean huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, well, we defeated him, so there's gotta be a way."

Henry looks stunned, but he moves closer and starts throwing out ideas. The men bat continue to talk until it's time to sleep.

The following morning, Sam insists on driving again, and he knows how tired his brother still is when he hands over the keys with only a token protest. Dean surprises Sam even more by climbing into the back seat and stretching out. Henry notices his worried look. "What's wrong with your brother?"

Sam looks over and begins to talk. In a way, he feels some relief in having someone listen, and Henry learns a lot about their lives and deaths. He looks really upset, but sympathetic. "So he's in the Army and healing slowly from being mauled by a Hellhound during trials to close the gates of Hell?" Henry shakes his head slowly. "It's hard to understand. All my adventures have been in books before now. It's all been theoretical."

"I'm not looking for sympathy," Dean growls from the back seat. "And I sure as hell didn't need one more person to be disappointed in me. So thanks a bunch there, Sammy blabber-mouth." Dean digs around things on the back floorboard before finding several bottles of water. He hands them around, and then opens his to down it all with a few gulps. "Pull over, Samantha. I'll drive for a while."


	5. Legacies Part 3

Legacies Part 3

Sam is a little bit leery leaving Dean with their long-lost grandfather, and it isn't all because he is worried about Henry. Dean hasn't been well, and Henry is really rubbing him wrong by putting down hunters. Sam knows Dean has always considered saving people makes what they do honorable. And his brother has issues – specifically self-esteem ones – although Sam knows he'd be risking his nose to say that within Dean's hearing.

Mainly though, after driving most of the way to Lebanon, Kansas, from Normal, Illinois, Dean is exhausted, again. This vacation to recuperate is not working out how they expected. Sam's tired too, and he knows Dean can tell. It's obvious that he had no leverage about it and couldn't even stop Dean from helping excavate the grave that gave them the clue and led them here.

The story they've cooked up for this guy relies on half-truths instead of out-right lies. Sam is going to tell Larry Ganem, the man going by Thomas Carey that he found a journal by his grandfather, and that led him to wanting to learn more about The Men of Letters. Sam dresses in a sports coat and a nice pair of jeans. He smiles, amused that even now when they have been living in quarters on Offutt Air Force Base for six months, he and Dean keep their costumes in the trunk of the Impala.

Sam gains entry easily enough; the housekeeper says the old guy doesn't get many visitors. The old man seems excited that he's there, surprised though that Henry would be dead. She shows him into the study and goes off to make them tea.

"Henry was our young one. Guess he was only twenty-seven or so last time I saw him. He'd only be eighty-two. Damn shame. We Men of Letters are usually more resilient than that." Larry Ganem is blind, but it seems like his mind works fine. "But as for the Men of Letters – doesn't really matter anymore. Genetically, there must still be some out there. The angelic vessel lines. But those of us who learned the secrets - they're all gone. Abaddon killed them and left me blind."

Sam hesitates. "Well, Abaddon isn't gone. And I'm here." Sam places his too small tea cup down. "I could use your help understanding what it is she wants."

Ganem gets excited. "She's looking for the box I gave Henry. In the box is the key to every object, scroll, and spell ever collected by the Men of Letters for thousands of years. All under one roof. It is the supernatural mother lode. And it is the safest place on earth, warded against any evil ever created. It is impervious to any entry, except the key." He scribbles a series of numbers on a piece of paper and thrusts it into Sam's hand. "If you find the key – throw it in and shut the door. This information will destroy the world if it falls in the wrong hands."

"I need to know how to stop Abaddon." Sam's starting to think the old guy is actually losing it. Throw away the key to knowledge? Larry must here the doubt in his voice because he starts to stress how important it is to keep it out of Abaddon's hands.

"Losing that collection is the price we have to pay for keeping it away from Abaddon. You do... have the key, don't you?"

Sam feels uneasy. He stands up and starts to move away. "I don't, um... but, uh…my brother, my brother does." He understands why as the housekeeper's eyes flash black. She only needs one hand to snap the old man's neck.

"Well, Sam, looks like we need to talk."

. . . . . . .

Dean is studiously ignoring Henry by cleaning guns in the hotel room; it's something his hands can do while his mind is off elsewhere. Something that his too tired body could probably do asleep. Henry is engrossed in watching television anyway, amazed with the color, the remote control and the number of channels. It actually makes Dean a little nostalgic for Castiel – and he considers introducing Henry to porn just to see how he'll react.

While Henry may technically be family, Dean learned the hard way with Samuel Campbell that blood isn't really what determines that. And besides, it's damned hard to consider this kid – younger than Sammy – as his grandfather. Still, Henry's under Dean's care for now, and he's a link to his dad who he loves, despite everything.

Dean is still chasing thoughts around his tired head when he sees that Henry has refocused his attention on him.

"You seem to know a lot about guns…" Henry remarks, and Dean just grunts. Henry sighs. "If I admit I never even actually met a hunter before, and I was acting like a prejudiced ass, would that help repair our relationship?"

"We don't have a 'relationship.'" Dean doesn't want to make this easier. Henry is going to have to work for it if he expects forgiveness.

Henry dips his head, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and Dean recognizes the gesture as one he picked up from John. He closes his eyes wearily, and because his fingers are covered in gun oil, he presses his wrist against his brow. Why does his life always have to be so complicated? He tried to simplify things when he got back from Purgatory and joined the Army, but as the months passed he grew more concerned that Smith and the US government want more from him than his ability to fight monsters and train others to do the same.

The guys in the Armory are great. Dedicated, smart, well-trained, disciplined. If they were all it was, he'd be content – hell, he'd be ecstatic. But with the government guys roping in every person the Winchester brothers ever worked with, well, it feels like they are cutting off any escape route and it just makes Dean worry more. For him and Sam. For Charlie and Kevin. For Cas. And now, he'll end up worrying about Henry.

Henry clears his throat, and Dean's eyes fly open. Damnit, he was falling asleep. Frikkin trials. Frikkin Hellhound wounds. He's think he needed a vacation, but that's what he's supposed to be on right now. "I made you coffee in that machine." Henry is holding out a cup, looking pleased with himself for having figured out a gadget. Dean takes it, grunting something that's supposed to pass as a thank you.

"I've been thinking." Henry starts, and Dean makes an honest effort not to roll his eyes. "You're not well, so maybe if we were to carve a devil's trap into the ends of the bullets…"

Despite himself, Dean is interested in the idea, and the two sit together working and talking. Bullets led to Dean telling Henry about the rock salt and iron shells hunters use in shotguns, blushing when he admits it was his idea. They discuss EMF readers, infrared technology that can be used with a cell phone to see ghosts, the cure for vampirism. They also discuss how to kill dragons and phoenix – and a demon tablet and the trials John's sons have undertaken. Henry asks good questions and makes quick connections, and Dean can't help liking the guy a little.

When Dean's phone rings, it interrupts what Dean realizes has been interesting shop talk. "Sammy?"

But it's a sultry female voice that answers him. "Not Sammy. Someone a whole lot sexier."

"Abaddon." Dean tries to keep the dread out of his voice.

"Good boy." The smirk in her voice is evident. "Now listen up – I want to make a good, old-fashioned horse trade. Henry and the key for your brother. Or I kill little Sammy." She pauses. "Am I clear?"

The Knight of Hell goes on to set up a meeting place and tells him to be there in thirty minutes. "Don't keep me waiting." Abaddon says in a flirtatious voice, and Dean wants to wipe the smirk he knows is there off her face.

Henry can tell from Dean's side of the conversation what was said. "We can't turn the key over to her. This is our sacred trust."

"I can't take that risk – not with Sammy on the hook." Dean shakes his head. "Get in the car, Henry. We'll try to work a plan, but you've got to understand something - When my dad died, I couldn't save him... no matter how bad I wanted to. I never want that to happen to Sam... ever. If there's a chance that I can save him, I'm gonna do it. He's my brother. He's the only family I got."

Henry's mouth twists into a crooked smile. "I think I understand how important that is. I just lost my family."

As Henry and Dean get to the rendezvous point, they nod respectfully to each other. However this ends – the two men have built some mutual respect.


	6. Legacies Part 4

Team Free Will – what a joke. Dean is musing as he drives with Henry to the rendezvous with a demon. It isn't free will if you have no real choice, and when has Dean ever really had the choice not to look after his brother? When Sam chose to walk away – that was a free choice, but Dean got him roped back in. Now, with the government owning their asses for the next nineteen years and five months – is anything they do really a matter of freedom? Yeah, there's some things that need to be discussed when Dean gets Sam safe again.

But right now, Dean needs to focus. He's going up against a Knight of Hell with only this kid, his time-traveling grandpa, as backup, and with Sammy's life on the line. And grandpa says it's important to keep the info out of Hell's hands. Well, Dean hasn't noticed that Heaven's hands are that much better. He says as much to Henry, who tells him he is being short-sighted.

Dean huffs. "At least we're not extinct like you Men of Letters."

Once they get there, Dean notices that Hell's done up in a very nice package this time. This Knight of Hell, Abaddon, is a stunning red head with alabaster skin and pouty crimson lips. Her body is rocking tight jeans and a leather jacket. Abaddon sees Dean looking and smirks as she returns the favor, licking her lips in appreciation.

"All right lover. No tricks. Just send me Henry and the box, and I'll send your brother right over. It'll be our little game of Red Rover," Abaddon's voice is like whiskey and velvet. It sends a shiver down Dean's spine. He shakes it off, feeling like a rabbit frozen in place by a falcon's glare.

"Umm, so time out. I get why you want the box. But why Henry? Couldn't we just trade the box for Sam?" Dean shuffles a little. "I mean info – fine it's all yours, but he isn't even trained all the way. He hasn't been initiated. He doesn't know the secrets."

"I'm not going to haggle with you like a market place vendor. Either you give me what I want or I kill your brother and take it anyway." Funny how Dean finds her less attractive every time she opens her mouth.

"Okay. Okay." Dean hurriedly shoves a box in Henry's pocket and pushes him toward Abaddon. "Let Sam go."

Henry stumbles forward and stops. Dean pushes him again. Abaddon pushes Sam who moves quickly toward his brother, even while he's protesting that Dean shouldn't do this. Henry has stopped again, and Dean takes out his gun.

"NO!" Sam yells and tackles Henry. Dean uses the distraction to shoot Abaddon in the head, an her skull glows with a bright light.

"Ouch. Ouch." Henry is moaning as he flips around and cuts the ropes around Sam's wrists. "Well that was unexpected. Thanks for the concern but you should trust your brother occasionally. We had a plan."

"Whoo!" Abaddon grunts. Well, that was a real blast. Now, give me the box." She raises her hand to try to pull Dean toward her, but stops realizing her powers are not working. "Why am I stuck?"

Dean has cocky smirk on his face as he moves closer to the demon.

"You can't kill me." Abaddon spits out.

"You'll wish I did." Dean says. "The demon trap in your pumpkin will keep you from using your powers or smoking out. Now we're gonna take you back to the lair." Dean turns toward his brother. "Hey, Sam! Henry says this place we're going as an actual dungeon. I always wanted a dungeon."

Sam looks puzzled as he turns toward Henry, who shrugs. "For a mouth-breathing hunter, you're brother came up with quite a scheme."

"No," Dean smiles at Henry and clasps his shoulder for a moment. "You and I did it together. For a bookworm, you did good, Henry."

"You know she would never let you go. She couldn't. You're also Winchesters. As long as we're alive, there's hope for defeating Hell, at least according to the prophecies." Henry looks at his grandsons, grown men who are physically bigger and older than him. "Let's get over to the bunker."

Sam takes the box out of his pocket. "What chance do you think there is that it's still there?"

"It was built to defend against every kind of evil," Henry says. "It'll be there. Did you get directions?" He and Sam follow Dean out. Dean has Abaddon in cuffs and he is pulling her along behind him as he walks toward the doors to the Impala. He open the trunk and forces her in.

Henry watches in fascination. "That's a demon trap painted on the inside, isn't it? It's somewhat different from the one I know. I'll show you."

"Later, Einstein." Dean huffs a laugh. "Damn, between you and Sammy I'm going to be educated whether I want to be or not."

It's a short drive, and Sam uses it to show Henry how the GPS on his phone works. Before long, Dean pulls the Impala up to the gate of a chain link fence. He stops and pulls a tire iron from the floorboard of the back seat. At Sam's raised eyebrow, Dean smirks. "What? I figured if we got a flat, I didn't want to open the trunk and let the world get a peek at the lady I got stashed there."

Sam smiles at his brother. "Good thinking, Dean. Again." His look says pride, and Dean blushes.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll be back to fucking up before you know it. So, don't get used to it."

Once the lock is broken, Dean drives them up until they reach a large door set into the ground beneath what looks like a two-story building. "This it?" Dean asks Henry. The slender dark-haired man shrugs. "Never been here either. I've just heard about it."

"Do we know when's the last time somebody was in this place?" Sam is standing outside the car now too along with his brother and grandfather. "Will the air be safe after sixty years?"

The three Winchesters look at each other and shrug. Dean takes the key. "Guess there's only one way to find out. You two, stay back and let me go in first."

"Why do you always think you should go first?" Sam's eyebrows climb.

Dean flashes him a grin. "'Cause I'm the infantry." He smiles when he sees his brother doesn't get it. "The infantry always leads the way Sam. Says so right on our patches." He turns away muttering. "Freaking civilians."

"But wait," Henry stops him before he reaches the door. "What about Abaddon?"

Sam shrugs. "She's not going anywhere." The two men wait as Dean opens the door. He takes a deep breath. Waits. Takes another. "Seems okay."

Sam reaches into the glove box and pulls out two flashlights. He hands one to Henry and they both walk toward the bunker. The three enter together with Dean leading, then Sam, with Henry protected in the rear. They shine their flashlights over a railing and see that there's a level below them. As they make their way down they see 1950s-style communications equipment.

"Look at this." Sam is twisting around, flashlight illuminating a Ham radio, telegraph, switchboard. "This is a nerve center. Geez, I wonder if any of this works?"

"This was our meeting place as well as our depository. It's also how we ran dispatch on our hunters. I was never here, but they trained me on some of this." Henry is muttering as he looks around. Neither he or Sam notice as Dean slips away. Dean searches until he finds an electrical switch box. He opens it and

Dean comes back down the steps and joins Henry and Sam. They continue to explore, finding a large library. "Sammy, I think we found the Bat Cave." Dean breathes out, awed.


End file.
